


Draw

by missblatherskite



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 08:46:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14132454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missblatherskite/pseuds/missblatherskite
Summary: Clary starts drawing Isabelle.





	Draw

The first time she sketched her she hadn’t realized what she was doing. She had been lost in it, the pencil in her hands, the light hitting the paper in her lap. She drew what came to her, without thinking of what exactly it was. And when she was done, she finally took it in, saw the face that was so familiar to her. Izzy. She was laughing, with her head thrown back and her hair gently brushing her shoulders, her eyes bright and happy. She didn’t look like this often enough, and Clary loved it, wished she could see it more frequently in real life. She smiled down at the picture and carefully closed her sketchbook. Maybe sometime she would show Izzy.

 

The second time she sketched her was only partially and accident. She had sketched out the face shape and begun on the eyes when she realized who it looked like. After that she drew with purpose. She drew her smile, wide and carefree. She drew her hair softly curling about her face, obscuring one of her eyes. She drew her as happy as she deserved to be. This time, Clary didn’t think about showing it to her. There was something about it that seemed…too personal. Like she had crossed some invisible line of what a friend should be drawing. It was ridiculous, it was just an innocent picture, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. No, this one she would keep private.

 

The third time she drew her was no accident. She sat down knowing exactly what she was doing, knowing exactly who she wanted to focus on. Izzy. And this time she wasn’t wearing an expression Clary wished she could see more of, this time it was even more real, more common to see on her. She was bent over a table in concentration, hair tied back to keep out of her eyes. Her lip was between her teeth as she contemplated whatever science type thing that Clary couldn’t understand, her hands casually splayed in front of her. She looked gorgeous when she was like this, and Clary did her best to capture it.

 

Slowly, her sketchbook began to fill and, save for the first few pages, everything was of Izzy. There was Izzy laughing, smiling, frowning, confused, annoyed. There was Izzy with her whip in her hand, standing fiercely. There was Izzy holding up a dress in front of her mirror, trying to decide what to wear. There were drawings of real moments, moments she had to capture on page, and moments that never existed, but Clary could imagine as clear as day. But all of it was Izzy, Izzy, Izzy.

 

It wasn’t an obsession she told herself, it was merely an artist finding her muse. She was perfect to be captured, beautiful, and kind, and special… The perfect subject. That was what she told herself as she looked through her book, a sick feeling rising through her, as she thought that perhaps it wasn’t so innocent, perhaps it wasn’t a finding a muse in a friend. She imagined it through Isabelle’s eyes, an entire sketchbook filled with her face, an obsession as clear as day. This wasn’t how friends drew other friends. This was what an artist in love did. And Clary, going through page after page, realized that’s what she was. In love.

 

She buried the sketchbook under her pillow—she couldn’t bring herself to throw it out, to keep it far from her. And that certainly spoke to how far gone she was. So she did her best to forget about it, put it out of her mind. But every time she saw her, her fingers itched. Every time she laid eyes on her drawing supplies, her new sketchbook, she longed to pick it up and draw her. But she steeled herself, turned her back on her pencils, turned her eyes away from the drawings of Izzy. She had to stop this before she fell even harder. She had to stop before she got hurt.

 

And that was that, or so she thought. The sketchbook remained safely under her pillow, except sometimes, at night, when she couldn’t sleep she’d take it out. She’d flip through all the pictures, touching the lines with reverence. She’d imagine touching Izzy as she did them, fingers trailing down her cheek, her arm. She’d think of playing with her hair, her necklace. She’d imagine kissing her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. But that wouldn’t happen. And so Clary would put the sketchbook away, hidden until another night of weakness.

 

She tried not to draw, now. Too often her thoughts would turn to her favorite subject, and she couldn’t let herself keep drawing her, not if her secret was to remain safe, not if she was to get over her crush (her love). But eventually she broke down, because drawing was like breathing for her, she couldn’t just give it up. So she concentrated hard, stuck to landscapes, pictures of the institute, pictures of Jace, and Alec—anyone, anyone, but Isabelle.

 

She thought she had hidden her infatuation well, she thought everything would stay safely secret. But she had forgotten their closeness, their tendency to burst into each other’s rooms unannounced, to wait in each other’s beds, ready to talk about whatever was on their minds. Clary had forgotten about the times Izzy would come to her in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, seeking understanding and distraction.

 

And so it happened. One night, when the sketchbook was out, when she was so absorbed in the pictures that she didn’t hear Izzy enter until she was close enough to touch the bed.

 

“What’s this?”

 

Clary startled, immediately trying to cover it, trying to close the book as quickly as she could to prevent Izzy from seeing. But she wasn’t quite fast enough.

 

“Was that me?”

 

She swallowed, tucked her hair behind her hair nervously but tried to keep her voice casual.

 

“Yes. I just—I like to draw everyone you know? It’s good practice. I do the others, too.”

 

“Can I see?”

 

“It’s not that good!” She cried, desperately. “It’s just a sketch, nothing to really show you…”

 

She tried to move the sketchbook away, hide it behind her, but Izzy was too quick. She snatched it out of her hand and was across the room with it before Clary could even process what had happened. Dread crept into her stomach. This was it then. This was her nightmare. Izzy was going to find out about her obsession, what a creep she was, and would never look at her the same way again. Their friendship would be over.

 

She waited with bated breath as Izzy slowly flipped through the sketchbook, her eyes widening, lips parting in shock.

 

“Clary,” She breathed. “These are…these are amazing. You drew all of these? All of them of me? They’re beautiful.”

 

“You’re beautiful,” she blurted out, cheeks immediately turning red with horror.

 

To her surprise Izzy only smiled, looking at her with soft eyes.

 

“Maybe I could pose for you sometime.”

 

“Yes—that would be—that would be great.”

 

Their eyes were locked, and neither was showing any sign of looking away.

 

“I love them,” She said, voice heavy with something else.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

And with that, she strode across the room and kissed her.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is always welcome. 
> 
> Comments warm my little goblin heart.


End file.
